In His Eyes
by soulfulwhispers
Summary: Hunting is teetering on the edge of normal with Dean falling more and more under the influence of the blade. A witch's spell causes Sam to have nothing but faith in his big brother, but is that truly wise? De-aged and Hurt!Sam. Demon!Dean.
1. Chapter 1

Story Title: In His Eyes

**Author's Note: Hello everyone, my name is Brianna Michelle. This is my first published Supernatural fan fiction, reviews are welcome and much appreciated. **

**An Important Story Notice: This story is my take on Demon!Dean in a set of consequences of my own making. He is struggling with the effects of the blade in a way that hints at canon events, but disregards them in service to the storyline. This is NOT a canonical story. Many aspects remain the same, but are manipulated to fit the scenario I've envisioned. Metatron is imprisoned, but Gadreel is alive. The angels have heard Metatron's big spiel (as seen in the finale) but it was a ploy put in place by both Cas and Gadreel. How they won, does not matter, but will be revealed as they find their way into the story.**

**Enjoy!**

Chapter One

The witch had been more powerful than they thought.

And crazier than hell.

Dean grimaced as he wiped her blood from his hands. She lay dead before him, and yet he still felt a chill. Her eyes were still so dazzlingly bright – a triumphant grey, even as blood oozed from her severed jaw line. He could hear the laughter she so freely indulged in before her end still bouncing around the room. It had been directed towards him, but her eyes had been focused entirely on the other man in the room.

_ Oh God. Sammy!_

Dean turned to his right, frantically. Eyes searching for Sam, who should be towering above him. He had been vertical when Dean knifed the madwoman; he had been relieved when the blue light she had sent in their direction died out along with her. It had not affected him, and Sam had been standing. He thought that they were both fine.

But Sam was on the floor, unconscious and writhing. Dropping the bloody rag from his hand, Dean rushed to kneel at his brother's side. He reached an arm out, his hand still steadily pulsing, to steady his brother. But he pulled back, afraid to touch him. His forearm was glowing, the Mark beating along with the throbbing in his hand, in his brother's moment of need, Dean momentarily felt only desire for the blade. It unnerved him, but he was soon torn from distraction as Sam stilled before him.

"Sam? Sammy, hey, come on…"

Dean paled as his brother began to scream. All reserve aside, he moved his arms forward to provide comfort. He placed one hand on Sam's shoulder, the other on the side of his face.

"Hey, shh. It's gonna be okay."

_ Huh. Guess we're still brothers._

It had been a rocky year, to say the least.

_ But that doesn't matter now, Sam. Just wake up._

Sam still wasn't moving. Dean's hands shook slightly, but remained on his brother, offering the only thing he could. His presence. Minutes passed, and Sam grew quiet. His eyes opened,

"Dean?"

"Sammy?" Dean's breath hitched involuntarily, "Yeah man, I'm here."

"Dean!" Sam couldn't hear him.

Dean bit back the second plea that jumped to the front of his mouth at the revelation, focusing instead on shaking his brother softly to get his attention.

_ I'm here, damnit._

Sam remained unresponsive; his words jumbled and out of place.

"Dean! I can hunt… I _can_."

The argument brought Dean back to a time when that was all Sam insisted. Just a year after he had found out everything, he started begging, "I'm fine!" and "I can do this!"

"I know buddy, I know."

"No! You gotta let me –"

Sam fell silent again, as his skin began to decompress under Dean's touch. Dean held on to his brother tighter, but he felt the skin shrinking and pulling back beneath his fingers. Sam had never looked so young and helpless in his eyes.

"Sam stop it. I'm serious!"

Dean pulled back in confusion, mind reeling. He held his head in his hands, palms pressing against closed lids. He counted slowly to ten. He breathed routinely, all thoughts of the blade gone. He wasn't going to lose his mind. Not over this.

He opened his eyes.

Sitting back on his heels before him, torso sticking out bare above an ocean of clothing material, teetered Sam. His eyes, speckled, large and bright under a messy blonde fringe. Red rose in cheeks suddenly rounded by baby fat, as the now miniature man cried for the second time that afternoon.

_ I was wrong._


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Dean had never been so wrong, so damn distracted.

And now his brother was hurt. Again.

He thought that they had moved past that ages ago, Sam had gotten better. These past few months had been focused on saving Dean instead. They hadn't succeeded yet, of course, but his blade usage was set to a schedule, observed carefully by his wary sasquatch of a brother. He needed to use regularly to avoid harrowing repercussions on his health, which eerily reminded him of Sam's demon blood addiction. He knew his brother felt the same. The only unmanageable concern was the fact that his eyes sometimes blinked black. Dean couldn't control it, and did not always notice it when it happened.

"It's okay, Sammy."

Dean's voice adopted the same tone that he had always used to calm Sam when they were younger.

"Can you hear me? You're okay."

The toddler was still in tears, and his watery eyes blinked cautiously as he studied his brother,

"You big" he hiccupped.

Reaching out slowly, Dean picked him up and held him snugly in his arms. His hands searched methodically down Sam's spine, in search of any unseen injury. It seemed that his brother was not crying out in pain.

"You bet, Sambo. Are your okay?"

The toddler nodded clumsily, wiping tears from his eyes with pudgy fists as he sat back on Dean's lap, mottled eyes searching green.

"De?"

"Yes Sammy?"

The little one seemed to be struggling for words, and Dean felt a surge of panic,

"Sammy, what color are my eyes?"

Sam giggled, "Gween!" but he soon looked even more confused. "How's you so big, Deanie?"

Dean paused, not knowing what to think, and not wanting to hesitate,

"Because I need to be."

Sam's face fell even farther.

"Is Daddy gone good?"

It was Dean's turn to be confused.

"Sam. How old are you?" He frowned, surely there was no way Sam had doubted their father this early.

"I's three."

Dean growled. Sam reached a hand forward,

"It okay De." Dean nodded, and tried for a small smile, remembering past conversations when a pint-sized squirt had tried to comfort him.

"Yeah Sammy, Dad had to go."

"Are you my dad now?" Dean frowned again, surely Sam had not been so attached so early.

"I don't know."

The question bothered Dean more than he wanted to admit. He just wanted to be a brother, and Sam hadn't been wanting that recently, and now he wanted to know if Dean could be his father? It was as if the scars of the past year's decisions had been erased by the witch's spell. Sam needed him again.

_You've got me back, little brother._

Dean stood and placed Sammy on the floor in front of him with strict instructions to stay put. He began to move about the room, cleaning up and masking all signs that there had been a struggle. Dean found this process relaxing, and he pleased to find that his body agreed with him, his shoulders releasing their pent-up tension. He could do this. Dean was almost looking forward to this, he didn't mind his brother being in pull-ups again, he would relish the second chance. He would not lose his affection again.

His eyes flickered black, and he stilled. Consciously, and with great effort, he flicked them back.

And if a counter to the spell could be found, he would find it. Sam would appreciate it, he was sure. But his grudges would still be there. Dean did not fear the opposite scenario – there being no reversal, in fact, he welcomed it.

Dean left the body for last. Thankfully, he had shoved the woman to the side as she fell, knocking her to the floor behind the couch. She was blocked from Sam's view, and that was all that mattered. Dean did not want three year old Sammy experiencing such bloodshed yet. Making his mind up, he walked over to Sam, draping his leather jacket around his shoulders as he crouched down in front of him.

"Hey, Sammy. Listen. This coat I've given you, it's a fort. A hidden castle" Dean winked, eyes crinkling, "but you have to stay inside and let it cover your eyes for it to work, okay?"

Sam smiled and moved to burrow himself underneath the warm leather. His bare bottom wiggled in the air as he crawled to hide. Dean made a mental note to stop by the store to pick up some clothes.

He was satisfied that his brother would remain hidden until he called him out. It was another childhood game of theirs that Dean had to resort to on occasion. Mostly to keep Sam occupied while he stepped out to take calls from Bobby or Caleb, and on those nights when their father returned, when Dean knew that he would be in rough shape. He wouldn't take the jacket off his brother until he had cleaned the blood from John's wounds himself, needing to determine that Sam would not be hurt by any forgotten droplet of what he called "the bad stuff."

Dean circled the body once more, noting with careful interest that the blade lay only a few feet away. Shaking his head, he dragged the witch outside and burned her among what he thought to be her version of a grove of trees.

He was not expecting to see Sam cowering on the couch when he returned.

The kid still had his jacket, wrapped around his shoulders like a cape, but he was clutching the sides to him, trying to disappear into the shield he had made for himself. One hand held the two sides together against his chest, while the other clutched a far more lethal weapon.

Dean's eyes widened.

_I should have grabbed the damn blade._

"Sammy, what are you doing on the couch?" Dean focused on remaining calm, his right arm beginning to cramp painfully, anger rising despite his best efforts.

"Fire, De! I smelled fire." Sam's eyes looked up to him in worry, teething toying with the tip of the blade in discomfort.

Dean wanted to go to him, knowing all too well that a Winchester's greatest fear was fire. Sam had always been sensitive to the smell of smoke, borderline asthmatic; it always left him with an unsettled stomach. But he couldn't bring himself to move, his hand was itching to hold the blade, and the animalistic part of him wanted nothing more than to wrench it out of Sam's fingers, he just couldn't bring himself to focus on being the big brother at the moment.

"It's okay, Sammy. I stopped it. Just give me the blade."

Sam smiled tentatively in relief, the second part of his brother's speech forgotten as he ran towards him, arms outstretched looking to be swung up in the only way Dean knew how. Staggering back as Sammy barreled into him, Dean focused on lifting with one arm, keeping his right firmly at his side, bunching the fabric of his jeans. It was an awkward reception, one that Sam was not used to.

"Easy there, Tiger" Dean said, swallowing back his frustration. He needed the blade; he couldn't hold himself back any longer.

"Dean? What's wrong?"

Sam eyed his brother with all the scrutiny his three year old body could muster, he knew Dean was mad at him. He hadn't meant to leave the castle early, but he thought the fire would get him. Couldn't Dean understand? He was trapped and he could feel the flames licking at his toes! Sammy thought that he had been brave, running all the way to the couch by himself. He had even got a knife to battle the fire monsters and climb the couch without dropping it.

"De, do you need help being bwave?"

Dean frowned, and breathed deeply, controlling his body's urges. He blinked at his brother's question.

"I help you!" Smiling, Sam raised his fist, brandishing his newfound weapon. "I gots it to fight demons!"

Dean's eyes flared, but somehow remained green. How dare his brother threaten him, call him demon! All these months, saying that he would save him. When all he had really believed was that Dean needed to be stopped. Dean ripped the blade from Sam's fingers and snarled, jabbing it forward to point it towards him, trying to form his accusation as heatedly as the moment deserved.

But all words faltered as he saw the fear in his brother's eyes. And then he remembered. This wasn't Sam he was dealing with, this was his baby brother, who did not even know that demons exist, and had only overheard his father telling Caleb a "story" one night over a pack of beer. Sammy only feared the monsters of stories that he feared would escape from his dreams, he hadn't yet been told that they were real.

He was holding a knife at his kid brother.

And he was bleeding, a cut running jagged and angry down his right side. Sammy wasn't even crying.

He had sliced his brother, he was pretty sure his eyes were black, and he wasn't even crying.

Sammy could only stare at him in shock.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

The run back to the car had been a desperate one. Sammy still hadn't said a word; he had only trembled as Dean crushed him to his side and fled the house, blood from the tip of the blade dripping as he left it dangling by his side over the pavement as he crossed the street to the impala.

"Sammy, it's gonna be okay."

He hadn't meant to hurt him, but Dean found himself at a loss. He couldn't control the blade. He didn't want to control it any longer. But Sammy was bleeding, and even though he just wanted to keep running, and drop him somewhere behind in shame, he had to patch him up. He had to bring him home.

But he wouldn't stay. Because Sam was trembling. In fear.

After everything that they had been through, years of fighting and betrayal, they had never completely lost each other. But now, everything was broken. Sam had never feared him. He had always trusted him, always completely. He took to it with utter devotion, always the baby brother. Sam did not trust him now, and would not be able to trust him again. Children scar easily, instantaneously. Dean did not know that they also heal and forgive, and that they often do that with greater speed.

He just wondered if Sam had trusted him even before all this happened. The schedule and constant blade watch, the wary distance he kept when Dean was in use, none of it spoke trust. It was always there after. Dean suddenly thought that perhaps it was all just a façade. With hands steady only through great effort, he opened the rear door of the Impala and sat Sam gently down in front of him.

"Let me see it, okay?"

Sam shook his head, "I's okay. Sorry De."

The kid looked so sad, his head hanging, bangs obscuring his eyes. Dean had to fight back a sarcastic retort. He had forgotten that Sam's hair had always been kind of long. The only time it had been somewhat manageable was when their father exercised complete control over what he thought was a 'hunting hazard'. As soon as Sam was expected to jump into action, he lost the baby's privilege of uncut hair.

Sam looked up again, blinking. "I said sorry Dean."

"What for?"

The kid refused to answer, looking down again. He was confused, but instead of pressing any farther, he decided to check on Sammy's wound. Sam wouldn't lift his head, but he helped Dean to lift his shirt over his head and place it to the side. His movements were slow and weighted, Dean was worried that he was growing lethargic, but his face wasn't drawn. Instead, Sam's mouth was fixed in a rigid pout.

The gash wasn't nearly as bad as Dean expected. He cleaned it first with a clean rag, not wanting to hurt his brother farther. But he knew that they didn't exactly carry antiseptic wipes, and that they both preferred a quick rinse with whiskey. He worried on performing the same routine with his now much younger Sam.

"Hey Sam?"

"Yeah?" the kid mumbled.

"I'm going to have to clean this, okay?"

Sam nodded. Dean figured that it wouldn't help any to ask permission to bathe him in alcohol, that it would only make him more nervous. But he would certainly make sure Sammy was prepared for what he was going to do. He wouldn't jump out at him again.

Circling back from the trunk, the first aid kit in his hands, he quickly got to work assembling what he would need beside him on the pavement. Lifting his eyes to meet Sam's, who was now watching him in a curious manner, he held up the small bottle of alcohol for him to observe.

"This is going to sting a little."

Sam sniffed once, but nodded his understanding.

Dean frowned, expecting more of a fight. But unscrewed the bottle any way. Ready with another rag, he poured it over Sam's side, and clenched his jaw as his brother began to cry again. He pressed the rag firmly to the side, and then began to rub around the injury, clearing the blood away.

"Well, fuck" he swore.

Sam's eyes widened, and he hiccupped through his tears. "You said a bad word, Deanie!"

Dean shook his head and growled.

"De? Why are your eyes black? Is it the bad words?"

Dean swore again.

"No Sam, words have nothing to do with them."

Sam looked down.

"It's because Dean's changed, buddy. He's not good for you anymore."

Sam began to wail, "Why, Dean? I can be good! I's been bad –"

"Sam" Dean said, frustrated, "You're not bad. You need stitches."

Without allowing Sam to protest, Dean dug around in the kit to pull together some stitching thread and a needle. He should have known that Sam was feeling guilty, the guy had had a complex right out of the cradle.

In reality, it must have been since his six month birthday.

Dean grew more frustrated as he begun to thread the needle. His eyes were still black, and of course Sam thought that it was his fault. He had attacked him, and yet Sam still wanted his forgiveness for it. The situation was all sorts of wacked, but Dean couldn't help it. He couldn't help his brother. And he couldn't make his mark stop pulsing. He only wanted to smash the pavement with something hard. He just couldn't bring himself to do it.

"De, I no want stitches!"

"You won't need them, Sam."

The gravelly voice appeared out of nowhere, and greatly started Sam. But Dean had almost expected it. He had hoped for it at least, but he didn't think an angel would hear a demon's prayer. His had been quick and fleeting anyway, he hadn't expected Cas to show. He figured that heaven was more of a mess than his kid brother, but not nearly as important. It would seem that Castiel agreed, which was a first.

"He doesn't recognize me, Dean." Castiel stated, puzzled.

The little boy sat completely still, his head looking up at the angel, his eyes wide with wonder. His awe sat on his face with a graceful innocence, and he couldn't bring his mouth to shut. Castiel met his gaze with a focused concern, he was surveying the situation.

"Dean, he's bleeding." He moved forward and crouched in front of Sam. Extending a hand out, he asked the child, "May I?"

Sam nodded, his gaze not leaving the angel's face. Castiel placed his hand over Sam's side, and as the site began to glow and grow warm from the palm of his hand, he studied farther as the child looked down in complete amazement.

"Cool!"

"Do you feel better?"

Sam nodded, holding his side gingerly, as his view of Cas changed to something close to worship.

"Dean, how did this happen? Your brother is a child."

Dean frowned. He felt utterly spent, but he met his friend's gaze anyway. They both new that the question also carried accusation, Cas had not been so understanding as of late. But Dean was ready to own up to his shame. "The witch I burned cast a spell on him."

"How could you let that happen?"

Again with the accusations.

"It's not like I asked her for it, Cas."

The angel frowned. "And he has no memories?" Again, he was observing.

"None past what he could remember at three."

"He is quite young then."

"Yeah."

"And does he know what we are? Or what you two do?"

Dean shook his head.

"Then he cannot stay with you."

With this, Castiel focused his gaze on Dean.

"Because you won't stop, Dean. You won't be able to. Not anymore."

Shaking, his body wanting to both flee and crash at the same time, Dean could only nod again.

"Take him, Cas. Please."

"I won't bring him to Heaven." Castiel promised. "But I won't bring him where you can find him, either."

"Take him to the bunker, and change the locks. Take the proper precautions. I won't go back there, I promise."

Both men paused after this, considering each other. Two battle-worn companions who had seen each other at their worst, but had fought together to get back to their best. One was lost and confused, and one was so gone – that he was most definitely far past repair. They could hardly recognize each other past their loss, but they clung to the friendship that they had once shared so easily. Castiel stood, looking down at Dean in front of him, as Sammy sat on the back seat his legs dangling off the outside of the Impala between them. He was confused, but Dean was just defeated.

"Let me say goodbye."

Cas nodded, and walked down the street.

Dean turned to Sam and pulled him from the car to sit on his lap facing him.

"Hey there, kiddo. You're feeling better, huh?"

Sam smiled and nodded, reaching a hand up to place at the side of Dean's face. He studied his black eyes with the devotion of a child.

"Sammy, I have to go away for a little bit."

"No!"

"Don't cry, Sam. It won't be forever."

Sam held on to Dean, and buried his head against his chest. Dean held him and began to rock.

"But it may be a long time, Sammy. Like Dad's trips, maybe longer. But I'm coming back."

"Why?"

"Why am I coming back?"

"Why you leaving?" Sam sniffled.

"Because I'm not good, Sam. I need to get better."

"You sick?"

"Kinda. But I'm going to be fine. As long as you are good for Cas."

Dean pointed to the angel, whose back was to them.

"He's a good friend of ours, and he'll take care of you. He has a house already set up. It even has a library filled with books."

Sam's eyes widened, "He nice."

"Yes, he is. Castiel has known us a long time. He's family, Sam."

"I don't wan you to leave." Sam held on to his brother harder.

"I don't want to either, but I have to."

Castiel walked back to them softly. He looked into Dean's eyes, and he forced himself to nod assuredly.

He bent down and lifted Sam from Dean's arms. He held the child against his chest, as he knew was the correct practice, and he managed well. He only looked slightly awkward.

"It's time to go, Sam."

Sam beat his tiny fists against the angel's chest as he cried desperately. He reached for Dean, but Dean wasn't reaching back. His head was bowed, and Sam couldn't see tears falling steadily from his face. Sam didn't understand. He kept crying for his brother, even as Cas pressed his face firmly against his shoulder, rocking him gently, walking them to the nearest store. Sam would need the journey to calm down.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

_Dean left his first aid kit on the pavement behind him. He wouldn't need it anymore. He was done. He walked around the back of his Impala, slamming the trunk shut as he passed it. He had thrown the blade in there in desperation to remove it from the threatening scenario. Sam had been bleeding. But he had to admit it now to himself, he was the danger, the blade only aided his conquest. He wasn't the same anymore; he almost didn't want to be. But he wanted Sam, he wanted his brother back. So he was on a journey to save himself, to change himself back in a desperate attempt to reclaim what he once was. And just maybe, Sam would be back to himself when he was done, and they could pick up where they were before and move forward._

_He turned the key in the ignition, and reveled in the growl of the engine. He was still in a small town, but he didn't care if they noticed the noise, or felt that it was an intrusion. He had no desire to follow the footsteps of Castiel, he couldn't see them again. Not for a while. And so he took his shame and its engine in the opposite direction, fleeing town through the back streets where he blared Led Zeppelin through open windows to the entire world around him. His right arm was throbbing still, and his frustration was growing. The fingers that were tapping against the wheel were beginning to lose their grip, and so he played the brakes until he the car stopped slowly. He dreaded its halt. But he needed out. He left the car, and circled back to the trunk, popping it open. He eyed the blade with a desire fueled by a quiet but equal loathing. He grabbed it anyway, settling it on his lap as he started the Impala again. _

_He continued to drive, as midday passed into late evening._

Their walk lasted thirty minutes. Castiel was not surprised. Sam had fallen asleep fifteen minutes ago, and he was now comfortably snoring on his shoulder. He was drooling too, which Castiel found amusing. He had never known the Winchesters as children, but for once one of them did something ordinary, something expected. He smiled at the observation. He kept his steps even, and his pace slow so that he would not wake Sam. He was passing lines of cars now, and they would be inside the Wal-Mart shortly. Castiel was eyeing the storefront warily, he hoped no one would notice that he had walked the entire way; he didn't want the public to give him any grief. He knew that they would be concerned to find him in possession of a child for which he couldn't procure any satisfactory paperwork. Not that they would be able to take Sam away, but he didn't want the conversation.

He had spent the walk contemplating what he would have to buy. He had no idea if Sam was potty-trained at three, but he figured it was a safe bet that he was – he hadn't become wet on their journey. He figured that he would buy some pull-ups just in case. The kid was still covered in Dean's shirt, which he had made sure to put on him before they left. Castiel did not want to think of Dean as they had walked away from him, he could not entertain the thought of him being alone. It was a necessary evil; he hadn't been able to remain near him for long lately. He regretted it, but he resented what Dean was becoming with a dedicated passion.

He wouldn't think of it any longer, for fear of him mentioning something to Sam that he shouldn't. He looked down at the sleeping form on his shoulder, alarmed at the thought that he may have revealed too much information somehow, but of course the child had not heard him. He was relieved. He wondered what sort of food he ought to buy, and what beverages. He was concerned also with clothing, seeing as Sam was improperly covered already. He hoped no one would eye them too much over the issue. The first part of business upon entering the store would be to secure its location. He needed to be able to give its address for their later transportation.

The young cashier Castiel approached once he entered the store eyed him with a bored and irritated expression. He hair was bleached blonde, and her mouth had a natural twist as if she was constantly tasting something sour. She greeted him in a chipped manner, unaffected and clearly waiting for him to leave. She gave him the address and turned away, finished with the conversation. He thanked her anyway, and headed towards the children's section.

_Meet me here, brother. And bring the car. We'll be driving._

He made sure to also give the location of his car, which he had kept in the bunker's garage. He felt bad to be making another angel pick it up, only to drive them right back, but it was the only vehicle other than the Impala that he was comfortable with, and he was ill at ease with the whole situation already. There were too many dangers surrounding them, without adding transportation on unpredictable roads into the mix.

The cart he pushed made an aggravating grating noise as it prattled on, but he would not place Sam in the seat until after he woke up. He knew people were often uncomfortable waking up in unknown places, so he would keep him in his arms. They came to the child's section, and Cas put a few sippy cups into the cart, along with a few self-proclaimed 'uspillable' cups. He paused when he looked at the shelves with pull-ups. He didn't know what size would fit Sam. He shifted the boy in his arms as he nervously surveyed his choices. He didn't want to have to wake him until they reached the clothes. He wanted Sam to pick out what he wanted. But he also knew that Sam wouldn't know what size would work for him, no three year old kept track of pant sizes.

A feminine voice inquired from behind him, "Excuse me?"

He turned to her, pulling Sam closer.

"Are you having any trouble?"

She seemed pretty nice, concern showing in her eyes brightly, and Castiel relaxed, "Uh, Yeah. Actually. Sorry, I'm new at this. His father… my… brother, well, he left on a little bit of an extended vacation and so I have this little one to look after. I'm trying to buy some pull-ups."

"How old is he?" She smiled at the sleeping child, and moved to stand beside Castiel, eyeing the choices.

"He's three. They're just a precaution."

She laughed, "You'll need them, accidents always happen. Try these ones" she pulled a box labeled 2T - 3T off the shelf "They usually match with age, although it is often better to go by size. He's pretty small for his age, so these should work just fine."

"Thank you." He smiled at her and shuffled on his feet, "I assume it's the same for clothing sizes?" He gestured to the shirt that was dwarfing Sam's body, "He's had a bit of an accident, and we're pretty far from home at the moment."

"Yes. Look for 3T for pants, the shirts may be labeled the same, or they may be small."

Castiel nodded. "Thank you again."

The woman smiled, "You're welcome. Don't worry" she said, eyeing the pair, "The two of you will be just fine. My name is Clara, by the way."

"Cas. And I really appreciate your help, Clara. I wish you a good evening."

"Thanks, you too Cas."

Nodding his head again, Castiel turned and walked down the small aisle, and turned to the next one. He paled at the selection of clothing he saw on both sides. There were so many options, and he knew the next aisle held more.

"Hey, Sam." He whispered, "Can you wake up for a bit for me?"

He stood there and rubbed small circles on his back on instinct as he continued to whisper his pleas of waking up to Sam. The child started to stir quickly, but was slow to sit up in his arms. Once he was sitting up, Castiel's arm still supporting him from behind, he made eye contact with his new family member. He was blinking, still tired from his interrupted nap, but he seemed content enough.

"Where we?"

"The store, Sam. We need to get you some clothes."

Sam glanced around, "Is Dean here?"

Castiel frowned, but he figured that he shouldn't be surprised that Sam had asked for his brother so soon. Children measure time differently, because they don't understand it. When they want something, seconds seem like years. He couldn't even fathom what minutes were to Sam right now.

"No. It's just you and me for now. Is that okay?"

Sam was growing teary, but he continued to look around. "He said you family."

"I am, Sam." Castiel smiled, pleased to hear that he was thought of so highly.

"Do I get to pick, Cas?"

"The clothes?" Sam nodded. "Yes. You may pick your clothes. We're going to get a little bit of everything."

Sam smiled and began to wiggle in Castiel's arms. Cas smiled and laughed quietly as he placed him down on the floor, letting him walk along the shelves and hangers. He followed close behind, pointing out what he thought the little one would like.

"Sam, how about his one?" He held up a blue plaid shirt that came with a white one underneath.

"This one." Sam answered, holding up a superman t-shirt.

Cas took it from him, placing his suggestion in the cart. Sam stuck his lower lip out at this action.

"Relax Sam, I'm just checking to make sure it's the right size for you."

Sam relaxed and didn't even argue when Castiel put the shirt back on the shelf in favor of an identical one of a smaller size. He told Sam to look for shirts with an 'S' on the inside and to put those in the cart. As Sam did this, Castiel opted for some more plaid shirts, and some long sleeved ones of solid colors. He also grabbed ten pairs of jeans. Sam came back with six shirts of his own choosing, some more with super hero logos, and some with other designs, skulls, dogs, and little cars.

"Are these all okay with you, Sam?"

"Yes!" Sam smiled widely. Castiel had never seen the boy so happy. But then, he had only known him as a man. Children found joy in the simplest things. "Dad bring me clothes, but they were boring."

Castiel chuckled. "I guess you know best."

Sam laughed and dropped his small collection in the cart. He climbed so he was peering over the edge, and he eyed the jeans approvingly. Castiel observed this with a light smile. What Sam had just said had upset him, he supposed that he should have known that even this simple of a childhood task had been robbed of Sam. The boy probably had no expectations of half of any normal childhood outing. He hoped to treat him to them all.

This newfound urge surprised him with its immediacy. But Castiel found that he was only delighted at the feeling. He had always been drawn to the Winchesters, but this smaller version of the youngest was changing him again, and wrapping him around his little finger. He found that he enjoyed this version of Sam, and that he was growing possessive of the little one. He would not part from him easily, and as strangers passed them, he found himself stepping in front of the boy to protect him.

"These are good."

"What?"

Sam smiled when Cas turned to look at him, "They're all good."

Castiel cleared his throat, "I'm glad, Sam. Want to get some shoes?"

Sam nodded, and they went into the next aisle. Castiel grabbed three bags of socks, one was plain white, the other black, and the last navy blue. He figured he had it covered. When they looked at the shoe selection, Cas realized that they were going to need a different measurement to figure out the correct size. Luckily, it only took him a minute to look around and find a sizing chart on a little rug on the ground. He walked Sam over to it and instructed him to fit his foot on top of various choices, until they decided which one matched his best. When he showed Sam his options, he picked the ones with a spiderman theme that lit up when you walked.

"We need to get some food now."

Castiel took Sam by the hand, and pushed the cart with one hand. As they began to make their way to the other end of the store, Cas felt a slight tug on his arm. He looked down,

"Can I get that?" Sam was pointing behind them at a large stuffed dog.

It was huge. With round black eyes, and sandy blond fur. It was easily twice Sam's size, but the kid was nearly bouncing on his feet looking at it.

Castiel smiled, and brought Sam to it. "What would you name it?"

"Don't know. He's not telling me."

"I guess we'll need to bring him home then."

Castiel let Sam pick up the puppy, laughing as he stumbled under the weight of the stuffed abomination, and helped him put him in the cart.

"He no get a way now."

Cas nodded, and offered to let Sam sit with his dog. Sam smiled and let Castiel pick him up and place him in the cart's seat. He was near enough the dog, but Cas explained that they needed a bit more room for all the food.

He decided to play it safe with the food. He picked up all the Winchester favorites, making sure to pick up various other products that he figured would be easy for kids to eat. He avoided alcohol. He stocked up on apple juice because he saw a young mother of two doing the same, and he even asked her what was the best milk to buy. He settled on two gallons of skim. He also grabbed a few boxes of mac n cheese, figuring that the childish doodles on the box meant that it was safe for children.

He then brought them to wait in line at the check out, while Sam began to chatter away about his new dog and his new clothes. The word 'new' playing on his lips with a childish excitement.

Castiel froze. This all would cost so much money. How could he forget?

_Brother, meet me inside. At the back of the store._

Without warning Sam, Cas turned the cart around and made his way quickly to the very back of the store. He did not stop until they were alone at the very back corner, surrounded by strangely shaped seats that he couldn't bring himself to focus on.

"What's wrong?" Sam was confused, but he looked up at Cas with a simple trust.

"I've forgotten something. I need to go get it before I can buy all of this."

"Money?" Sam laughed, "De forgets that sometimes too."

Castiel nodded, embarrassed. "A friend of mine is going to stay here with you while I go get some. I'll only be gone five minutes."

Sam frowned. "Okay."

"I'm sorry Sam. I –"

"You sad. Stop."

Castiel didn't know what to say. Sam was looking up at him stubbornly, as if his being upset personally offended him. "Sam, I've messed up. And now I've made you uncomfortable."

"I don't like you sad."

Cas smiled. "Okay then I won't be sad."

Sam nodded, and then leaned to look behind him. "Who's that?"

Castiel turned, and smiled in relief. "That's my friend."

Gadreel approached slowly. Looking about him in confusion, making a point of not looking at the Winchester child.

"Castiel, why did you ask me to come to you here? Especially with the person who is in your company?"

"I need your help, brother. You must know that I do. Not all is right with this situation."

"Indeed." Gadreel answered. He shuffled and looked at Sam. "Hello, Sam Winchester."

The boy eyed the intruder warily, Castiel was surprised by his alertness. He seemed to have shifted into defensiveness.

"He does not recognize you, Gadreel."

Gadreel looked at Castiel, confused. "How did this happen?" he lowered his voice, "The man is a child."

"With none of his life's memories before this age." Castiel answered just as quietly. "A witch's spell struck him. I do not know for how long it will last, or if it will even fade at all."

Castiel took a step forward and placed his hand on Gadreel's forehead. Sam watched all of this with a suspicious curiosity. Gadreel stiffened.

"You would go to this man, whom you have just departed from. Even though you no longer trust him?"

"I need more money than what is in the car now. He has the cars."

Gadreel looked at Sam, "Then you must go now, and return quickly. I will not argue with you. But this child does trust me."

Castiel turned back to Sam, and walked over to him. "Sam? Will you be okay for a few minutes?"

"Yes, Uncle Cas." The boy said, laying a special emphasis on his words as he looked pointedly at Gadreel.

Castiel smiled. "Thank you."

He walked away and into the next aisle and disappeared.

Gadreel turned to Sam and tried to smile.

"My name is Gadreel."

Sam frowned.

_Dean was now in a new state, glad to be rid of that small town by so many miles. He hummed along with the music, and turned off the highway to find a motel for the night. It took him about twenty minutes to find a suitable spot, he wasn't picky. But he was starving, and he was beginning to feel nauseous. His arm hurt like a bitch, and he was glad for once to bring the car into park. Exiting the car, he fell to his knees, suddenly dizzy. The blade fell to the cement beside him, he swayed uncontrollably._

_A woman approached him from the side, having left the office with a single room key. She seemed harried from some past scenario, but her eyes showed genuine concern. She knelt beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder._

_ "__Are you okay?" _

_Dean didn't hear her. He just felt her, so close. Her near proximity enraged him, and his whole body screamed for violent action. She registered as a threat. Because she was alive, he was sick. And he would only get worse. _

_In one smooth motion, Dean reached for the blade and lunged at her, cutting her at the end of his mad arc, and spilling her blood like a waterfall on the pavement. Her body quivered and fell to the ground in two pieces. He was left, leaning over her like a predator, breathing harshly. He no longer felt ill. _

_He felt primal satisfaction._

_ "__Dean." a voice whispered._

_He looked up._

_The angel stood in front of him, his recent kill lying between them like the severed bond of their trust. Castiel did not even acknowledge her; he only had eyes for Dean._

_Dean choked. He had known Cas' gaze for years, but now he saw his eyes. They were hard and cold, and they contained so much anger and disgust. Dean felt burned, and then coldly hollow. Without speaking, Castiel crossed over to the Impala and reached inside. He pulled out Dean's wallet and grabbed two cards._

_ "__For Sam. You will not see him again."_

_A sound ripped from Dean's throat without his consent, shocking them both. _

_Castiel observed the trauma on Dean's face, and swallowed convulsively. "You would need a miracle, Dean."_

_Turning and leaving him behind, he knelt and apologized to the dead woman and disappeared for what Dean thought was for good. _


End file.
